


The Working Title Affair

by mayamaia



Series: Scenes from the Departure Desk [6]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 02:43:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/730655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayamaia/pseuds/mayamaia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>UNCLE sends in one of their own to do an alarmingly ordinary job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Working Title Affair

The airport was amazingly quiet for a Friday afternoon, the occasional late passenger rushing to check their bags and get to the gate, but the crowd was leisurely overall. There weren't even any lines at departures, for once.

Napoleon Solo was predictably taking advantage of the quiet, chatting up the new hire while reservations were made for himself and his absent partner. Marsha Millner, bent over the flight schedule, was naturally amused. That man would be charming twenty-somethings in his eighties and beyond. He'd stop when he was... no, that wasn't a good direction for thought.

 _Miss Aaron is holding her own, so far,_ Marsha thought. Indeed, the girl had almost a long-suffering air, as if she already knew all the man's tricks. _Well, perhaps she's been spurned recently. Her loss,_ the receptionist thought, without rancor.

* * *

"So how does it feel to be a clerk, now, my dear?"

Solo's grin was FAR too smug, Maia Aaron thought, as she smiled and shook her head at him. "They do not call us clerks, Mr. Solo."

He laughed lightly. "Well you aren't a secretary either, Maia."

"That's Miss Aaron, Mr. Solo. And the job title is receptionist." She raised an eyebrow at him. "And you know just how much that job title means. Sir."

"Oh yes," Solo chuckled, "Absolutely noth-"

"It means everything. Sir." Maria looked at him levelly. After a moment, his eyes lost the laughing glint and he nodded at her.

"Just you remember that, Miss Aaron." Napoleon's face softened again. "But remember too that you'll be here almost every day. Perpetual vigilance is exhausting, Maia."

She sighed and tried a smile. "Yes, sir. I think your tickets are probably ready by now, sir."

Solo gave her an exaggerated wink and slid down the counter to Miss Millner. "My darling Marsha, have you found space in that crowded book for me?"

The woman actually smiled back at Solo and answered in the same tone. "I have, Napoleon, and for dear Mr. Kuryakin too. We can give you one first class and one steerage, or for a modest fee we can put him in the cargo hold."

"Mm," he chuckled, "I'll have to save that bit of revenge for the next time he steals my shirts." Solo took the tickets out of Miss Millner's hand and bent over it for a gentlemanly kiss. "I must go. I'll give Illya your fondest regards."

Maia sidled over as Solo left. "You can't really like it when he puts on that act, can you?"

Miss Millner smiled at her. "Oh you'll see. Some days the Twins are the only thing that keeps me going."

Maia successfully resisted an impending jaw drop. She also tried not to stare, with less success. "...Did you say he has a twin?!"

Marsha giggled back. "Oh no, it's just a pet name. But he and Mr. Kuryakin are always here, and they're almost inseparable. You'll see. Napoleon even tries to arrange double dates some nights, just to keep Illya in sight." When Maia's face still registered incredulity, Marsha quickly added, "I don't think he'll try it with you, though, Miss Aaron. He's going to want you all to himself."

Maia blushed. "Mr. Solo can want all he likes, but I don't need to be picked up at work."

A few hours later, after she saw the top UNCLE team stride off together into the terminal, the crowds grew worse and Maia was somewhat less sure than she had been at the beginning of the shift. Her head began to throb and her feet began to ache.

Any excuse to have a drink would not have gone amiss by the end of the night.

* * *

Saturday managed to be worse than Friday.

Maia jumped a mile when a little boy popped his bubble gum a shade too loudly. She kept seeing travellers passing in the corner of her eye and imagining suspicious movement.

One potential passenger tripped over his luggage and landed against the counter. Maia's hand flew to the small of her back where it met no comfort, cold and solid.

"Is your back okay, Miss Aaron?" Miss Millner asked, courteously.

She laughed nervously. "Oh, just an ache. Jitters, I'm... tense."

Marsha smiled sympathetically. "Why don't you go get a cup of water and sit down? Have you eaten anything?"

Maia blinked. "Oh my. I may have missed lunch."

"Well there you go," Marsha replied, "You need to get yourself some vitamins in you and then you'll have plenty of pep like the ads say. And when the pills aren't at hand, a sandwich can do the trick." She took Maia by the shoulders and marched her to the end of the counter, where she gave her a little shove toward the restaurant.

Maia counted the pennies in her pocket and was hard pressed to buy herself a cola and a candy bar. But since anything was better than nothing and peanuts had protein, she settled for the Snickers and made her way back to the departures desk.

Mr Solo was there, leaning against the counter as if he had been waiting for her. Mr. Kuryakin was standing to the side, a black feather stuck to the side of his head for no obvious reason.

"Miss Aaron, your shining face lights the room," Solo exclaimed. "Before you ask, the flight was excellent, the food superb, the seating ideal." Illya rolled his eyes but Napoleon continued. "Now, I have a policy, miss, of inviting the new girls out to dinner after Marsha here has had some time to knead them with her claws." He grinned at Miss Millner and pretended to elbow her. She pretended to push him away in annoyance but spoiled the effect with a laugh.

Maia might have declined, but couldn't bring herself to do so. She was on edge, she didn't want to cook, all she really wanted was to be off her feet and to not feel quite so hunted. _And I could relax,_ she thought, _he's an agent._

Maia sighed, then put on a smile. "Okay, sir. I appreciate it, though I won't be the best of company."

"Napoleon, please, Miss Aaron," he corrected, and then patted the counter. "I'll pick you up right here, at the end of your shift."

* * *

Maia expected something else. That Napoleon would put on a show of a first date, perhaps, or that he would be giving her an evaluation on her work.

She didn't expect the tiny restaurant. And then came the question.

"How are you holding up, Maia?"

She looked up at her boss, and saw him in a suddenly human light. His face showed sympathy, no judgement or pity. Maia swallowed and looked down at her napkin. "I feel exposed, mostly. I got startled today and I grabbed for my gun."

The words began to flow, about little things and big ones, and Mr. Solo didn't say much. He just nodded, and listened, and when she was done he suggested that Illya could spar with her sometimes. Perhaps someday she could almost feel safe, undercover without a firearm.

Maia had to ask, when dinner was over. "Can you tell me, sir... why I was picked for this job?"

Napoleon looked back for a moment before answering. "You look innocent, Maia. And your strategy scores in emergency simulations were always top-notch." He tilted his head to the side. "We didn't pick you to see every threat, but to respond instantly and well. Too many things have gone wrong for us, right in the airport."

Napoleon rose from the table and offered an arm. Before she stood, he leaned closer and spoke intently.

"Your job is to man the gate, Maia. It needs a guardian."


End file.
